Help
by mouseagent
Summary: The Joker is busted out of Arkham and goes missing, until he shows up on a strange doorstep. JXB, feat. Harley and perhaps others in future chapters.
1. Crayons

It was dark. And quiet. Mostly quiet, actually. And he didn't like it. Not one bit. Silence and emptiness. No Audience. His mind felt weak with boredom and medication. Always with the meds. Just pumping him up like he was a car that needed gasoline until he could just barely move. But the headaches were the worst part. He couldn't understand why his shrink had chosen to initiate such obviously extreme measures. Ridiculous. All he had done was play with the guardsman with a crayon. How badly could it have hurt? He hadn't even hit any fatal points, out of total consideration for the insipid lout.

So now he sat, chained in one of their new straightjackets that he didn't really feel like worming out of at the moment, staring at the large metal door opposite to him. Glaring at it and daring it to open its gaping mouth to puke out some sort of living form.

Then he heard the metallic clinking of its lock adjusting itself to open, which it did very, very slowly. Mockingly. His glazed eyes following it until it silenced and stood still. Then the vomit came forth, rushing in clad in a light blue guard uniform and a menacing grimace.

"You. Freak." The guard, Joe judging by his nameplate, spat at the spidery man in the white jacket.

The man grinned, abnormally wide, his yellowing teeth sticking out like tombstones in the night that was his mouth. His lips were dark, peeling red, and the corners of his mouth had been carved to give the illusion of laughter. His hair was dark and green and splitting, fraying in any direction it pleased, falling over his face and neck. His skin looked like it had been bleached, pasty and white, unhealthy and unclean. Around his sunken eyes coal-colored make-up had been crudely applied, and he was abnormally tall and lean, with many of his bones visibly sticking through his thin clothing.

The Joker scanned the guard named Joe from head to toe slowly and critically. "Have we met?" He snapped. "Or are you a fan? Oh, I'd love to sign something for you, but as you can see…" He shrugged his arms. "I'm a bit tied up at the moment. Maybe next time."

Joe snarled and lunged at the Joker, his large hand grabbing the collar of the straightjacket and lifting the light man into the air.

"You Bastard." He growled. "Do you even have any idea what you did to my friend? DO YOU?" The Joker narrowed his eyes down at the surly man's face, grinning.

"What? Who are you talking about?" He laughed. His eyes closed just before the impact of the guard's fist slamming against his face. He felt himself fall to the cold concrete floor. It hurt, but he didn't really mind. It was his turn to move now.

"Oh dear." He whined mockingly. "Just look at this mess. And this was a new jacket given especially to me from Dr. Burton, too! What a pity, what a—hrrk!" The large hands were tight around his throat, the huge fleshy wall of a man crushing him into the piercingly hard ground. He felt his arms threatening to break beneath him, prisoners in the confines of buckles and sleeves.

This wasn't as fun as it should be, the Joker mused to himself, but it was satisfactory for the moment. Pain ripped through his ribs and lungs from the pressure.

This guy has no style. Now, Batsy, on the other hand…that was some fun.

A hairy knuckle broke his already grotesque nose.

This is soooo boring.

"So…Mr. Joe-guard-sir…what exactly is, pardon the expression, your bone to pick with me?" The Joker spoke with a mockingly sarcastic innocence. "If it's because I didn't eat my fruit-loops this morning, I can explain. I was simply too busy. I got these new crayons, I just loooove crayons." The guard's face contorted in anger, a vein pulsating on his neck. "And I was playing with them with a friend of mine, but he took them, you see, and his friends from the sick-place had to come pick him up." The Joker grinned fiendishly. "And I never got my crayons back, and the gave me some medicine instead. And this new jacket. Do you like it? It's not really me, is it? I think it's a little too tight."

Silence. The sound of heavy breathing. Joe leaned in close to the Joker's face.

"I'm going to KILL you, you sick, fucked-up, murdering, faggoty son-of-a-BITCH!" He screamed.

The thin man smiled and whispered, "Minus points on originality, bub. And hey, you better watch your mouth, or I'll get my Batty lover in here to whoop your ass."

The guard's face contorted in disgust. "You're sick."

"You already said that. Twice now."

"I'm going to kill you."

"That, too. Redundant much?"

The large man's thick, trunk-like leg flew up into the Joker's crotch and excruciating pain seared through him like lightning. He squeaked with surprise and gasped for breath. He felt his head lift up by his hair until he was eye-to-eye with the particularly ugly face of his offender.

"You almost killed a guard, who I knew. How you did it with a crayon, I don't know, and I don't want to know. But you have to be disciplined. And you will be disciplined." Joe's lips curled up into a cruel grin. " Your going to be staying in a new room from now on where you'll be well taken care of by a new 'doctor'." He leaned in closer until he was nose to nose with the smaller, gasping man. "And you won't be going anywhere until you're completely cured or dead, got me? Actually, never mind that. Just until you're dead. Okay?"

The Joker grinned, leaned in to close the few inches between their faces and gave him a passionate kiss on the lips.

"Okay." He licked teeth.

* * *

Batman swooped down to the police HQ's rooftop, the crisp, bitter wind biting at his lips and exposed cheeks. The blazing light of the Bat-signal burned through the night sky to leave its bright mark in the clouds. Gordon's familiar figure moved out from behind the spotlight, his arm outstretched to switch it off.

"Good evening, Batman. Sorry for this…uh…interruption." He seemed nervous, his eyes darting to behind the large light.

"What seems to be the problem?" Batman kept his voice low and gravely as he flowed towards the officer, who in turn motion to someone concealed behind the spotlight. The bulky form of Bullocks strode forward, dragging a slim person in handcuffs roughly behind him.

"Oh! Mista' B!" Harley Quinn's face lit up at the sight of the shadowed vigilante, who stared at her incredulously. He turned to Gordon.

"Care to explain why she's here? She's been wanted for weeks now." He growled as the harlequin and police chief winced. Bullocks obliviously continued chewing on a doughnut.

Gordon cleared his throat. "She insisted on seeing you, Batman," he said slowly, "She turned herself into the police just a few hours ago…" he fiddled with his hat nervously. "She said it was important, and she wouldn't talk to us."

Quinn suddenly flung herself at the caped crusader, tears trickling down her face, smudging her ghostly-white make-up. "Ya gotta help us, Mr. B!" She sobbed, "I-I-I've been hearing things from my friends at Arkham…an-and…something's happened ta Mr. Jay!" She turned her round face up to him, her eyes pleading, her hands clenched together. "Ya gotta help him!"

Batman took a step back, surprised by this sudden unexpected outburst of emotion. He never could stand seeing a woman cry. Harley's small gloved hands clutched his caped as she hung her head, tears pooling on the roofing before her.

The Dark Knight took a deep breath.

"Tell me what's happening."


	2. Running Water

There were a lot of things the Joker hated. He hated it when people didn't laugh. He hated it when they didn't die when they were supposed to. He hated it when Batsy ignored him. He hated it when Batsy laughed at him. He hated it when Harley got in his way when he was having fun with his Bat-boy. He hated a lot of things. He also hated it when he forced into a game where he didn't hold all the cards. This was one of those moments.

Actually, this had been one of those moments for a while now, and he didn't like it. Not at all. It wasn't fun anymore. And anyway, there was only so much his body could take, he knew that, deep, deep, deep down, though he despised admitting it. If those bastards kept this up, he'd die, or they'd die. And the latter seemed improbable due to the circumstances.

At least the view was different hanging upside-down. Now he just had to hope no one would come to take him to another day of "testing" and "experiments". He spat and it hit the wall in front of him, a new splotch to add to his work-of-art-in-progress. I wonder if Bat-boy hangs upside-down, he thought suddenly and snickered. That would be adorable.

He didn't hear the door open, his sight and hearing had become too damaged by the electric shocks, but he felt rough, gloved hands grab his mangled feet, unclasp then from the ceiling, and drop him to the floor. He grinned.

_Shit_.

The hands tossed him onto a wheeled table and carted him out of the small cell, each turn they made, each bump sent jolts of pain through the Joker's body. He held his breath in attempt to stifle his yelps, keeping his face plastered in a perpetual grin. The bubble of spit in his throat popped when he opened his mouth to speak, a stream of discolored fluid dripped from his mouth down his chin.

"Gently now, big boy," he whispered hoarsely. Something hit him on the head, something hard and flat.

"Shut up and keep still."

Oh, that sounds like Joe-dearest. "How's it going with crayon-man, Joe?" A sharp turn sent waves of burning pain through his torso. Silence. Was the guard gone? The cart was motionless. Had his hearing gone completely? No, he could hear something. Something soft and quiet, the sound of trickling water.

Oh boy. Something new.

* * *

"I like your ride, Mr. B. I bet it's a chick-magnet, ain't it?"

Batman didn't move. His eyes were plastered on the gravel road stretching out before them. Harley Quinn huffed and pouted.

This is wrong, he thought. Harley Quinn in the Batmobile with him on the way to rescue…the Joker. From Arkham, the place he belonged. He, the Batman, was going to Arkham to save the Joker, who he had just put in there but six months ago. But…

_"Ya gotta believe me, Mr. B!" Her voice was desperate and choked with tears. "We got an informant in Arkham that tells us what's goin' on in the big house, an'…an'…" She turned her eyes up to the Dark Knight, "They told me that my puddin's been missing for months! No one's see 'im! They thought he escaped after he almost killed a guy with a crayon, b-but…" She hiccupped. "They say one of the guards told one of the other guards, who told the guard for Jervis's cell, who told Jervis after being, y'know, mind-controlled, and Jervis told Dr. Crane, who told our informant…" She took a deep, trembling breath, "T-that m-my Puddin's been put into solitary in some unknown region of Arkham and has been the primary subject for…a-a series of new experiments…th-that involve…" She gasped and held her hands over her mouth. "W-when I was a psychiatrist, I heard about these new theories, b-but I never thought they would actually…I thought they had been trashed…"  
Batman grabbed her wrist sharply. "What are they doing, Harleen?" _

_ Quinn's eyes welled up with tears, "The theory involved breaking down the patient mentally a-and…physically…until they are in a harmless, child-like state, so th-they can be re-taught and…and…THEY'RE KILLING HIM IN THERE! THEY'RE TORTURING HIM! YA GOTTA SAVE HIM!" _

_ She collapsed into a sobbing heap on the rough rooftop surfacing, her head shaking in her trembling hands. "Y-ya gotta…you're the only one I can turn to who can."_

_ The Dark Knight was silent. His mind was racing. Is this a trap? A joke? A dream? He heard a voice speak in his head._

Let him die.

Let him die like all those people he's killed. Like Jason. Or scarred for life, like Barbara. Let him suffer.

But…

He was human.

Insane, yes; violent, yes; dangerous, most definitely yes. But he was human. He could still be saved. At least, the Batman liked to think so. He liked to hope so.


	3. Where Is He?

His body was numb, shaking violently from head to toe, his hands clawing at the edges of the wheeled stretcher that was being pushed back, he hoped, to his cell. His lungs were on fire and frigidly cold water drizzled from his mouth and nose, escaping in spurts as he struggled for breath.

He hated water. He hated water ever since he had fallen into that vat of chemicals so long ago. The vat he had been born in.

The stretcher stopped abruptly. He felt himself being lifted up by large, rough hands. They moved over his body, probing him, aggravating his many gashes and swelling bruises. He didn't move. He told himself he could move if he wanted to, but he knew he was just deluding himself. He couldn't move anymore. He needed to rest. The Joker felt the unfamiliar hands run down his shirt, brushing over one of his splintered ribs, before stopping suddenly. They started undoing his pants.

Oh shit. Not again. Not again. The grin returned. He lifted his head just centimeters off the stretcher.

"Oh, no you don't, big boy. You still g-gotta p-pay me for the last times-s…"

* * *

It's amusing to think that a place like Arkham Asylum would have something so normal as a receptionist, but it did. One could only wonder what kind of stories she had to tell. Her small desk was located in the far corner of the lobby, which was a small room with wooden benches scooted up against the sides of the walls, which were decorated with motivational posters.

The receptionist might have looked up from her nail filing as the Dark Knight and Harley Quinn strode past, but they didn't pause to look. They walked briskly through the labyrinth-like corridors of the Asylum. Occasionally, a security guard would walk up towards them as if to ask what they were doing, but then change his mind and slowly back away cautiously. It was a strange feeling. They knew the Batman there.

Quinn grinned. "I wish I got that kinda treatment," she said. "How do ya do it? Oh, wait, I know. It's the cape, ain't it?"

The vigilante gave her an unsettling look. She gulped. "Yeah. The cape. Definitely the cape."

He stopped in front of an office door and, pulling the harlequin to his side to restrict her movements, and entered without knocking.

"Dr. Burton, I need to see the Joker." His voice was deep and menacing.

A small man with a shock of white hair and glasses jumped in his seat, sending papers flying off the large oak desk in front of him. He adjusted his glasses on his bird-like nose.

"W-why, Batman…what an unexpected pleasure. I see you've apprehended miss Quinn again, marvelous. I'll call a guard to take her off your hands if—"

"Where's the Joker?" He stayed in the shadows behind the door. It always seemed to have a more menacing effect on people, he noticed. The psychiatrist flinched.

"T-the Joker, you say? W-why, is there something wrong?" He started wringing his hands, a nervous habit. He was hiding something. Or maybe he was just petrified.

"I need to talk to him. Where is he?"

"Well, I don't think he's available at the moment. Maybe if you came back later—aah!" The masked man leapt at the doctor, grabbing him by his collar and raising him off the ground so they were eye to eye. Harley whistled and clapped from the background.

"Yeah! Go Mr. B! Whoo!"

A terse glare from beneath the hood shut her up with a squeak. He glared at the small, dangling form in his hands.

"If you tell me what's really going on here…NOW…I assure you all charges against you will be decreased. If you don't…" A slightly evil smile crept its way into his lips, "I'll hand you over to Lt. Bullock. Personally. And we all know how upset he gets, don't we?"

Burton emitted a high-pitched, giggling whine and nodded his head. Batman lowered him back into his chair slowly.

"Talk." He took out a small recorder from his utility belt. "Tell me what's happened to the Joker…"


	4. Icecream

The sound was…grating. Painful. Blaring throughout ever corridor of the Asylum. Loud enough to wake the dead, the Joker thought to himself. Or me, the second best thing. I feel like shit. I could really go for an ice-cream. With chocolate syrup and nuts. Lots of nuts. Or hell, I could just get a handful of inmates. He chortled under his breath at the thought of Bane, Poison Ivy, the Riddler, and the Clock King drowning in a bowl of mint chip ice-cream. And then to top it all off…a Bat-cherry. And then I could pop Bat's cherry….

The door opened, the emergency sirens suddenly got louder, and Joe entered the room. The Joker grinned at the huge feet coming at him from his upside-down position from the ceiling.

"Hello, darling. Come back for more, or did you just want to see me?" One of the huge feet impacted with his face. He laughed uproariously. "Always so violent! If your into all that S&M stuff, you should just tell me, 'cuz to tell you the truth…"  
"Shut up, fucker!" Joe released the clown's ankles from the ceiling and threw him onto the floor. "Hurry up, we're moving you. NOW!"

The Joker frowned. "Now why is that, dearest? I just got this one all comfy. I almost finished decorating the wall with my spit…"

"Shut up, shut up! We gotta get you outta here, now!" The burly guardsman pushed the man in the straight-jacket forcefully into the corridor. "Someone tipped off the Bat-freak and he's on his way down here!"

The harlequin of hate froze. His eyes widened as he stood there, motionless. Then a grin spread ever so slowly across his face until it spanned from ear-to-ear. He snorted and then started howling with laughter until tears were streaming down his cheeks. The guard stared at him, unsure of how to react to this sudden outburst. Suddenly the laughter stopped and the Joker cocked his head to one side, the insane grin still present on his face.

"I wonder if he heard that…heh," he whispered.

Joe grabbed the Joker's arm. "Come on, we haven't got all day." The Joker gave him a coy look.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no…you see…" He turned away from the confused guard as they started walking down the corridor. "I do have all day. I always have all day. I always will have all day. You, my dear Joe, do not have all day. Not today." The clown spun around abruptly and stuck his tongue out at the guard.

Joe raised an eyebrow. "What?" He stopped in his tracks with a choking gasp. He started shaking violently and an ooze of blood spurted from his mouth. He looked down at his chest slowly and groaned. "How…how did you…when…" The Joker's face was frozen in a perpetual grin. He didn't move.

Joe stumbled backwards and fell heavily onto the hard unpolished floor with a thud. Protruding out of his chest was a silver nametag reading "Joe" with its long needle-like pin imbedded deep into his flesh. The Joker walked over to the corpse, kneeled next to it, and, with his teeth, dragged a ring of keys out of its inner pocket.

"Thanks, Santa…this is what I've always wanted. Well, actually you still owe me a box of crayons from last year…" He chuckled. "But I guess I can overlook that."


End file.
